


The Illusion of Truth

by romanticalgirl



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 00:58:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally posted 8-03-06</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Illusion of Truth

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 8-03-06

Archie watches them with sharp eyes, noting the easy way their bodies move in toward one another’s as they talk. There is nothing untoward in their movements, in their gestures, in their stance, but Kennedy has known Hornblower a long time, and the careless familiarity he allows Bush speaks volumes.

The watch is endless, miles of sea in every direction with nothing but the splash of flying fish to break the monotony. He walks the quarterdeck, his hands locked behind his back, one wrist loosely caught in his grip. Bush and Hornblower stand off to the side of the ship, discussing the course Buckland has set now that the orders have been read. He stops short as he turns, Midshipman Wellard directly in front of him. “Mr. Wellard.”

“Mr. Kennedy.” He nods with the strange eagerness to please that Archie doesn’t remember from his days as a Middie, so overlaid were they with the desire to be invisible aboard Justinian. “I was wondering, Sir, if I might have a moment of your time?”

“I am, as you can clearly see, on watch, Mr. Wellard.”

“Of course, Mr. Kennedy. I meant later. After. If you’d be so kind.”

Archie’s eyebrow lifts as he stares into the clear brown eyes, so light compared to Horatio’s. “I hope, Mr. Wellard, that you do not wish to go beyond Captain Buckland’s orders to discuss the business of late?”

“Oh, no, Sir.” Wellard shakes his head emphatically, guileless. “I had a question of a different nature.”

“Very well then, Mr. Wellard. When I am off watch, you’re welcome to accompany me to the ward room. We can talk there.”

“I’d rather…I’d rather the other Lieutenants weren’t around, Sir.” The pale skin flushes and Wellard’s mouth fashions into a smile. “If that’s all right.”

Archie’s eyebrow raises another notch and his lips purse. “Very well, Mr. Wellard. We’ll seek some other accommodation for our meeting. As for now, however, I have a job to do. As do you.” He nods briefly and moves around the younger man, completing his circuit of the quarterdeck in silence as Horatio joins him. 

“Everything all right, Mr. Kennedy?”

He thinks about the sway of the ship and how they learn to stand tall against it, thinks about how easy it is to let the sway take you and blame the waves beneath. “Aye, Mr. Hornblower. Steady as she goes.”

Horatio’s eyes dart to Wellard then back to Archie, questions clear in their depths, though nothing slips past his tongue. “Very well then. I’ll leave you to it.”

“My best to Mr. Bush, Mr. Hornblower.” Horatio stops for a moment, a mere pause in his stride, then resumes his walk with a slight touch to the brim of his hat. The smile that curves Archie’s lips is bitter and tastes of the sea.

**

The bell sounds the end of his watch and Archie makes his report quickly and efficiently, giving Bush no room to censure or criticize. “The ship is yours, Mr. Bush.”

He touches his hat and nods to Archie. “Very well, Mr. Kennedy. Enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Archie leaves the quarterdeck and moves below, not surprised to find Wellard at the base of the ladder awaiting him. “Mr. Wellard.”

“Mr. Kennedy.” He glances around and stills as he sees Horatio approaching. “I…we can still talk, Sir?”

Archie turns his head and watches Horatio, sees the curiosity gleam in his brown eyes even through the murky light. “I don’t see that there’s a problem, Mr. Wellard. Perhaps we could go down to the hold.”

“Mr. Kennedy? A word? If I may?” Horatio glances from Archie to Wellard then back again. “You’ll excuse us, Mr. Wellard.”

“Go on,” Archie encourages him. “I’ll be along.” Turning as Wellard walks away, Archie nods his head to Horatio. “Mr. Hornblower.”

“What are you up to, Archie?” His voice holds no suspicion, only amusement wrapped around the very dangerous edge of warning. 

“Nothing at all, Horatio. Mr. Wellard, I believe, has a problem. He’s asked for my help in dealing with it.”

“A problem that would not concern the Captain, I hope.”

Archie smiles sharply and shakes his head. “No, Mr. Hornblower. As you are apparently unaware, I am capable of following a direct order.”

“You’ll have to forgive my ignorance, Mr. Kennedy, as I have seen you disobey so many.”

“Not disobey, Mr. Hornblower. Like my immediate superior, I merely have learned to circumvent.” He nods again. “Now, if I may?”

Horatio’s jaw clenches and he forces a nod. “Of course, Mr. Kennedy. Don’t let me keep you.”

Archie turns on his heel and follows the path Wellard had taken, anger lighting a fire under his skin. He mutters soft curses under his breath, unsure who they are directed at as he takes the stairs further below to the hold, the dark hallways filled with the dry scent of grains. “Mr. Wellard?”

The lantern moves as Wellard peers into the hallway, his face in the ghostly glare. Archie closes the distance between them and moves into the small division, settling easily on a barrel of salted beef. Wellard sets the lantern on the hook then sinks opposite Archie, shifting uncomfortably on a pile of burlap bags stuffed with oats. 

They sit silently for a moment, until Archie sighs softly. “Well, Mr. Wellard?”

“Mr. Kennedy…Sir…” He looks up and shifts again, the pain from his lashings obvious in his clear eyes. “I…”

Smiling slightly, Archie nods and gets up, moving to sit beside Wellard. “There are worse things,” Archie tells him softly. “Pain fades, even scars fade. And, as men like Mr. Hornblower and possibly myself move up in the ranks, the ways of governing a ship by fear of retribution will fade as well.”

“How do you stop it, Sir?”

“Stop what?” Archie tilts his head back and stares at the wood above them, eyes tracing the whorls and patterns in the grain. “The pain?”

“The hate.”

“If you’re lucky, they die.” Archie gets to his feet and sighs, dropping his gaze to Wellard's. “If you’re very lucky, you kill them.”

“You do not suggest, Mr. Kennedy that I…”

“I suggest nothing of the sort, Mr. Wellard, and, in fact, it would be best if you do not finish that thought.” He offers the younger man a smile, the razor edge of it causing Wellard to flinch. “We all make choices, Mr. Wellard. And we live with them. Sometimes, the choices drive us mad. Other times, they sharpen what we see with crystal clarity.” He thinks of Horatio and William, no doubt strolling the deck, heads bent together. “And other times, they do nothing more than what we ask of them. They just allow us someone else to blame.”

**

The wardroom is silent when he enters, and he thinks it empty as he slides the chair from beneath the table. He sinks into it and leans his head back, closing his eyes. He feels the air stir and tilts his head, opening one eye to see Horatio leaning against the darkest wall, detaching himself like a shadow. 

“How is Mr. Wellard?”

“Afraid.”

“A wise boy.” Horatio moves closer, still keeping his distance. “You see yourself in him.”

“And you do not. You feel every sting of the lash, but for you it’s nothing more than a senseless punishment. I feel every sting in my flesh, deep where the lash cuts.” He runs a hand through his hair, tugging strands free from the loose queue. “He’s scared and he feels alone and he doesn’t know what to do. He saw…something, and whether that is what he truly saw or fears he saw or wishes he saw, he does not know. No one knows.”

“Archie…”

He nails Horatio with his eyes, the light shadowing the face he knows so well. “I know what it’s like, Horatio. To look at something you think you understand and be completely convinced you’re seeing something else.”

“And what is it, Archie?” Horatio nears him, coming free from the darkness and moving into the circle of light, sitting in the chair next to Archie’s. He sits close – too close – his hand grazing Archie’s knee as he shifts. “That you think you see?”

“Potential.”

“Do you wish to know what I see?”

Archie shakes his head, uncertain that, even in jest, he can stand the answer. “No, Horatio. I only know what I want.”

“And you think the two are different?”

“I don’t know, Horatio. But I’m like Wellard in that regard as well.” He leans forward, allows his forehead to touch Horatio’s, feels the faint gust of breath as sweet as a kiss. 

“How is that, Archie?” Horatio tilts his head, the promise of his lips inching closer, taking a chance in the silence.

Archie smiles, the curve of his lips feeling heavy and wounded, as he leans in and steals Horatio’s proffered kiss. “Afraid.”


End file.
